Shadows of Vengeance and Love

Velvet Club reopened after a lavish renovation, and within the first week, it hosted the wedding banquet of the CEO’s son from the illustrious Wallace Group. The parking lot was a spectacle—luxury cars lined up like an auto show, gleaming under the city lights. The main banquet hall buzzed with laughter and chatter, filled mostly with business associates from both families. Meanwhile, the private entertainment suites in the side building were eerily quiet. Most of the staff had been dispatched to the main hall, leaving only a new receptionist at the front desk. She leaned lazily against the counter, scrolling through her phone out of boredom. Suddenly, a gust of icy wind rushed in, sending a chill down her spine. Irritated, she looked up to glare at the culprit— A tall, slender girl dressed in white had just entered, a heavy black rectangular bag slung across her body. She had misjudged the strength needed to open the door, and just as a fierce wind picked up, the door swung wide open. Momentarily startled, she hastily reached out to pull it shut, one hand still carefully cradling the peculiar black bag. But the wind was relentless, dragging her forward instead. The glass door slammed into the wall with a loud bang, the sound reverberating through the empty lobby. The girl steadied herself and looked over apologetically. The receptionist glanced up, only to meet a pair of striking amber eyes—clear, bright, and slightly dazed. The cold air rushed in, making the girl’s fair cheeks flush a soft pink. Her long, jet-black hair danced wildly in the wind like drifting seaweed. The receptionist scowled. She wanted to shoot the girl a glare but reminded herself to remain professional. Instead, she pursed her lips in annoyance. The freezing wind cut like knives. She really wanted to curse. The girl grasped the door with one hand and struggled against the wind to close it. After much effort, the door finally shut. The storm outside was muffled, and warmth gradually returned to the lobby. The receptionist glanced at the girl’s black bag—its shape was suspiciously similar to those seen in movies involving shady dealings. Just as she was about to utter a half-hearted "Welcome," the girl held out a small ID booklet and spoke in a soft, pleasant voice: "This is my identification. I’ve been in touch with your manager." So, not a guest. The receptionist took the ID indifferently and glanced at the photo. A delicate, refined face stared back at her—Zoe Nolan. She looked at the occupation: forensic examiner?! The receptionist clicked her tongue. Such a frail-looking girl, and she chose a job like that? She shot another glance at Zoe’s heavy black bag and asked, "The manager didn’t specify which room. Which one is it?" "307." The receptionist frowned. "307 is occupied. You’ll have to wait." "Occupied?" Zoe tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, puzzled. "The evidence in that room hasn’t even been cleared yet. How can it be in use?" "Ask the manager. How should I know?" The receptionist picked at her ear. A few of the bride’s friends were using the suite for a gathering. It was the most luxurious room available—who would cancel such a lucrative booking over some trivial matter? Zoe didn’t argue. She turned and headed upstairs. The corridors were dim and quiet, like an abandoned tunnel. The door to Room 307 was ajar, and from inside came the sounds of chatter and excitement. Zoe knocked gently and waited a few seconds. The room was noisy; no one paid her any attention. She pushed the door open slightly. Inside, the luxurious suite was illuminated by a single bright chandelier. A group of men and women sat around a table, engrossed in a card game, their eyes locked on the action like moths drawn to a flame. The onlookers whispered strategies, the players boasted to psych each other out. Among them, one man simply smiled without speaking. Unlike the others who were either sitting or leaning, he was the only one facing her direction. Shadows obscured the lower half of his face, but the high bridge of his nose, deep-set black eyes, and tousled hair bathed in light were striking. Even with only half his face visible, he was undeniably handsome. Zoe looked away and knocked again. This time, the room fell into dead silence. She tensed instinctively and glanced up. But the crowd wasn’t looking at her; they were all holding their breath, watching the game unfold. She sighed inwardly. Social interactions had never been her strength. She clenched her hands slightly, debating whether to knock harder. At that moment, the man across the room lifted his gaze. His long lashes fluttered once, and when his eyes met the light, they sparkled like molten gold. Zoe’s heart inexplicably clenched. The shadow moved aside, revealing his full face. His lips curved into a confident, almost dazzling smile—not at her, but at his hand of cards. A moment later, he laid them down on the table with practiced ease. Gasps and exclamations filled the room. "Oh, d*mn!" "Wow!" "Incredible!" Some clapped while others groaned, drowning out Zoe’s firm knock. "Another win for Ethan Hale," someone sighed in resignation. The room burst into a cacophony of praise and disbelief. Winning, no matter the stakes, was intoxicating for any man. "Ethan, you’re unreal! I’ve never seen such a perfect hand," a male spectator marveled. "You guys are losing your shirts tonight," a woman teased. Zoe sighed, leaning against the wall. She couldn’t just barge in and demand the room, could she? Her phone vibrated. It was a call from her colleague, Ryan Quinn. "Zoe, I’m so sorry! I got the room number wrong. It’s not 307, it’s 107!" "...Got it, you scatterbrain." Relieved, she turned to leave. As she descended the stairs, a passing waiter offered her a cup of steaming water. "Would you like some water?" he asked politely. Zoe glanced at the rising steam and nodded, accepting the cup. Just as she brought it close to her lips, a strange sensation pricked at her instincts. She turned around, but the waiter had already vanished. Frowning, she hesitated for a moment before tossing the cup into the trash. ... Meanwhile, back in Room 307, the players were still analyzing the game, reviewing their mistakes. Ethan leaned back in his chair, his expression carrying a hint of languid arrogance. "I’m done here. Let’s wrap it up." A girl beside him pouted. "Giving up so soon? Afraid to lose?" Ethan chuckled lightly. "No point playing anymore. The wedding’s about to start." The awkward tension in the room dissipated. A short-haired girl teased, "Ethan, when are you getting married? We need another excuse to party." Ethan stood, towering over her. He smirked. "You first." She giggled. "Not before Claire! I promised to be her bridesmaid. Don’t make her wait too long." Claire, a long-haired beauty, smiled awkwardly. She glanced at Ethan, but he remained as charmingly nonchalant as ever. "She’s not in a hurry. Why are you? Hoping to catch the bouquet? Fine, I’ll grab one for you later." Laughter filled the room. Ethan, however, stepped out into the hallway, his usual smile fading as he stared out at the stormy sky. Winter had arrived again. Was she cold? Underground, it must be freezing. He stood alone for a few seconds, a faint smile tugging at his lips before he resumed his pace. As he descended the stairs, he instinctively reached into his pocket for a cigarette when his phone rang. He answered and continued down to the first floor. A waiter pushed open a door in the corridor—Ethan assumed it was the passage connecting to the main building and walked through. Engrossed in a lively conversation with the caller, he chatted for several minutes before reaching a bend in the long corridor. Amid his laughter, he inadvertently looked up and noticed a long-haired girl standing at the entrance of a dimly lit stairwell. She had her back turned to him, lowering her head as she adjusted her necklace. Her hair was swept to one side, revealing a fair, slender neck and a delicate, pale ear, softly outlined in the low light. Still holding the phone, Ethan moved toward her. She had both hands tucked behind her neck, struggling with the clasp of her necklace. While he joked on the line, Ethan tilted his head to secure the phone against his shoulder and reached out, gently taking the tiny clasp from her grasp. At that moment, Zoe Nolan felt a sudden ache in her neck—just as she was about to put away her necklace—a pair of warm, slightly rough hands unexpectedly gripped it. Startled, she jerked as the man’s hand took hold of the delicate piece. The warmth, almost searing, transferred from his hand to her neck as his fingertips, both warm and rugged, made contact. From somewhere behind her, a casual laugh drifted out along with a lazy, offhand “Mm-hmm?” His deep, resonant voice filled the dim corridor, wrapping around her ear. Puzzled and taken aback, Zoe turned around in astonishment.